


sophomore slump and/or comeback of the year

by mikkey_bones



Category: Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Skating, Competition-Set Fic, F/M, Ice Skating, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Teamwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 11:52:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5665153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikkey_bones/pseuds/mikkey_bones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When former Olympic figure skater Natalia Romanova comes to the U.S., she has a plan: get back to skating into the ladies' single division. She does not plan to find a new figure skating partner, and she <i>definitely</i> does not plan to fall for him. Things start going off track from day one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sophomore slump and/or comeback of the year

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ismaene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ismaene/gifts).



> Written for [syliaplath](syliaplath.tumblr.com) on tumblr for the prompt "figure skating AU."
> 
> First of all I have to say that this is way too long and I really, _really_ didn't mean to write this much but I loved the AU too much and got kind of carried away. I started out knowing basically nothing about figure skating, though, and I still don't know a lot. Like how they pay for this? No idea. Skating is an expensive hobby. And how Natalia got permission to compete in the U.S.? No clue. So I'm sorry for any inaccuracies in this fic. They are legion.
> 
> Finally, in the spirit of overachieving, I've added youtube links into to the text whenever a character mentions a piece of music, so that you can click right away and know what they're talking about. I'll link again during performance bits (for the atmosphere).

“Look, I know you're done with pairs,” Clint says, holding one of the metal double doors open for Natalia as they both enter the training rink. The familiar, slightly antiseptic smell of ice and rubber washes over Natalia and she takes a deep breath in spite of herself, feeling an ever-present tension in her shoulders ease slightly.

“I know you know,” she says when she starts paying attention to Clint again. “Which is why it's pointless for me to be here.” She's only here because she owes him a favor.

Clint shoves his hands in his pockets and shakes his head. “But I saw how much you loved doing it, Tasha. And this guy is looking for a partner, and I think you and him will really get along.”

“Your matchmaking has never actually worked, you know,” she says dryly. It feels strange to walk on the cold cement floors in her heeled ankle boots, casual wear, rather than in sneakers or covered skates. Her footsteps have a different kind of echo, and she affects a different kind of balance.

“There's a first time for everything,” Clint says, unfazed. “And he's a good guy. Just getting back on the ice after a shoulder injury. Real strong skater. He's been doing pairs his whole life. You've probably seen him around, actually.”

Natalia nods along, only half listening to what Clint is saying. There are several people on the ice right now but only one adult, and it's pretty obvious at a glance that this is the man Clint wants her to meet. As she steels herself for this conversation, she also reflects. She knows that a lot of skaters love doing pairs, get addicted to the rush of moving in sync with someone else, of lifting and being lifted, of training together, performing together.

The problem is, she hadn't loved pairs skating. She'd loved _Alexei,_ in her own way, and gotten into it from there. And this tall, brown haired (handsome) man waving to them from the ice is definitely not cut from the same cloth.

“Hey,” he says cheerfully as Clint flags him over, skating gracefully to the wall. He has good form, Natalia notes without feeling. “What's up?”

“Hey, Bucky,” ( _Bucky?!_ ) Clint says, grinning and clapping him on the shoulder. “This is the woman I was telling you about. Senior pairs skater, newly single—I mean, in skating, just moved here from Russia.”

Bucky (?!) turns his gaze onto her, greeting her with a crooked grin and curiosity in his gaze. “Hey, nice to meet you,” he says. “I'm James. James Barnes.” His introduction makes Natalia wonder where the hell ' _Bucky_ ' came from, but she doesn't think about it too much, because she remembers James Barnes. Used to do a lot of skating with his sister, Rebecca, at U.S. events, and at a couple ISU competitions that she attended too. They never met, but word gets around in figure skating. He was pretty good, until he stopped. 

(So was she, Natalia supposes.) 

“My name is Natalia,” she says with the crisp pronunciation of someone who learned English late in life but learned it well. She shakes his outstretched hand. His grip is firm and his hand is warm. At least there's that. “Nice to meet you too.”

“Natalia _Romanova_ ,” Clint butts in with his smarmy, _get a load of this_ grin. Natalia realizes he was setting this up all along and wants to hit him. Especially when she sees James's eyes get wide and his jaw go slack. She recognizes this expression. It means—

“Romanova? Like, _the_ Natalia Romanova?” he asks, his tone incredulous. “Wow. I've been following your career since Budapest. I'm a huge fan. That free program you did in 2012? To that song from the [_Nutcracker_](https://youtu.be/Kr9Nj7GKUZc?t=1m33s)? That was inspiring. I...” He looks around like he's suddenly realizing that both Clint and Natalia are looking at him with blank, surprised expressions on their faces, and clears his throat like he's embarrassed. “I mean… Nice to meet you. Really nice.”

Right. Natalia turns to Clint. “Please tell me this is a joke.” 

* 

It's not a joke. James covers his skates and leaves the rink, and all three of them end up sitting on one of the benches to the side of the ice rink to talk. 

Once James-not-Bucky gets over his wide-eyed hero worship of her—which takes less time than Natalia thought it would, and she wonders if she should be insulted—it's actually not so bad. He turns out to be a funny, easygoing sort of guy. Flirtatious, but not over the top. Confident, but not cocky, though Natalia's heard he was pretty arrogant when he was younger. 

“So then Becca retired to go to college and have like, a normal life, and I went through a few new partners before I got hurt,” James is saying. He reaches up to touch his left shoulder, a ghost of remembered pain flickering across his face. Natalia knows that look. “Bad lift, bad fall. Took a few months to recover.”

(If she remembers right, his injury happened over a year ago.) 

“And now I'm back.” James shrugs, and in that shrug Natalia sees hours and hours of hospital visits, physical therapy, occupational therapy, strength-building exercises, and training. But that's just projecting. She's thinking about Alexei, and that has nothing to do with James. “Well, back- _ish_. Still looking for a partner.” Then he glances at Natalia, and glances away. “What's your story?”

Again, Natalia looks at Clint, but he seems pretty content to just sit there and watch them talk to each other, like a proud parent—or a proud matchmaker. That's probably for the best. If he spoke for her now, she really would kill him. 

“You know what happened.” The whole figure skating world knows what happened, with the accident, the second injury, the very public fights, the separation. It's like their sport's version of a nasty celebrity divorce, in more ways than one. And James nods, because yeah, he does know. He's a _fan_. He has to know. “So I decided to move to the U.S. to train. Clint is an old friend. He invited me.” Technically, now he's her choreographer. Whenever she gets back into skating.

That's Clint's cue to finally start talking. “We're looking into ladies' singles right now, but I asked Natalia to give this a shot.” He looks between the two of them. “It could work out.” 

“I'd have to skate with you first,” Natalia says, turning her gaze from Clint to James. She's only ever done pairs with one person. Does Clint know that? And she told herself last year that she was never going to do pairs again. Things never worked out. And she wasn't a people person.

She's probably imagining that James looks a little nervous. “I've got a half hour of skate time, if you wanna try now.” 

“I didn't bring my skates,” Natalia says. She actually hasn't skated in a couple of weeks, and she's already feeling out of shape. The words come out colder than she meant them to, though.

“Well, I'm just here because Clint asked. Today's the only day this week I can be here without one of my coaches or my PT.” James looks apologetic, and Natalia knows figure skating schedules—he's telling the truth.

They end up renting skates from the front along with skate time, like she was just anybody, and the attendant at the skate rental booth gives her a strange look when she reads the name on Natalia's USFS membership card, which arrived in the mail to her new apartment only two days ago. It's embarrassing. The skates don't fit so well either—they're not tight enough on her narrow feet and the inside edge of the left blade is badly sharpened. 

It doesn't matter when Natalia steps onto the ice, though. She takes a breath and does a slow circuit while Clint and James stand at the sidelines. They're talking, and probably about her. She doesn't care. Her jeans aren't the best for skating, but she does a few lazy spins before skating back. This feels amazing. She needs to start getting out on the ice more. 

“We shouldn't do any lifts or things,” James says, stating the obvious once she's back. Natalia puts one hand on the wall and does little circles to keep her feet busy. “Just slow stepping, I guess. Maybe some holds.”

“Probably a good idea,” Clint says, and James reaches out. Natalia watches him hesitate before he touches her arm. “You ready?”

“Ready as I'll ever be,” Natalia agrees dryly, taking his hand and pushing away from the wall. Here goes nothing.

Three minutes into their trial run, she has to revise her prediction. This isn't nothing. It's actually fun. James is excellent at tracking and predicting her movements, and when he takes the lead, she feels like she does a pretty good job doing the same thing. After several circuits of the ice together, feels like there's this thin filament of shared awareness stretched out between the two of them, something she only got after months of training with Alexei. Is this what it's like to do pairs all the time, then? 

And more than that, James is just so damn big. Like when they do a front-facing hold and his hand goes all the way across her stomach, and his entire weight is at her back. And he's warm. 

She _really_ caves halfway through their skate time, when they stop to take a break by resting against the walls of the rink and James is describing a routine that he did with his sister three years ago at Eastern Sectionals. His hand motions are broad as he gestures to illustrate a lift and nearly slips, and Natalia laughs loudly enough she surprises herself as he regains his balance. 

When their half hour ends and they skate back to Clint, who's watched them the whole time, James says, “I think that went pretty well.” His voice is tentative, and he looks at Natalia for confirmation. 

Alexei would have just said, “That went well,” without asking for her opinion, because they always felt the same about their skating. They'd felt the same about most things, except for the important stuff. She likes that James asked. 

“Yeah,” she agrees. Even Clint saw how well they worked out there. He knows what she's going to say, too, Natalia realizes when she sees the look in his eyes. She can't even be mad about it. This feels like one of the best things that's happened to her in a long time, and she's mature enough to eat her words when she really has to.

“Well?” Clint prompts as soon as the two of them get back to the wall. “What do you think?”

James looks at her to start, but she remains silent, so he talks first. “I'd be… willing to try it. I think we can get along well together. I'm willing to talk to my coaches about this.” 

Then they both turn to Natalia. She looks at Clint, who seems annoyingly smug about all of this, and then up to James. His eyes are blue, she realizes. A muddy, dark sort of blue. And he's looking at her like he's never wanted to skate with anyone more than he wants her right now. It's a nice, almost intoxicating feeling. She swallows. “Yes. Talk to them.” 

* 

Apparently James talks to his coaches, because the week after that, he texts Natalia to meet them down at the International Skating Center, where he'll be practicing with them today. She's heard about Nick Fury, of course—in a sport where Black American figures are a noticeable minority, he's made a splash by being an extremely successful, sought after, and selective coach, even after he lost the eye. She hasn't heard so much about James's other coach, Maria Hill, but the way that he describes her—“She's really hot. Terrifying, though,”—makes Natalia like her immediately. And when she looks her up online, turns out Hill has quite the reputation too. 

Their first meeting feels a lot like an audition, but it ultimately ends well even after Natalia flubs a few of her spins and falls down after a couple jumps. She's not in excellent shape, but James still hasn't worked his way up to lifts on the ice yet, and Hill and Fury don't seem too disappointed. 

They meet to practice again a few days later, on a Monday morning, in one of the ground training rooms, with thick mats on the floor and mirrors and a ballet barre lining the walls. It reminds Natalia of her childhood. They work on blocking and form, and repeat an easy lift. James is gritting his teeth when he sets her down the second time but to his credit, both of his arms remain steady and he keeps following instructions. 

Natalia is starting to feel hopeful, and apparently James and his coaches are too, because soon their tentative partnership isn't tentative anymore and Fury and Hill ask her to officially join their team. 

She's watching _House of Cards_ at Clint's place, eating roasted vegetables and rosemary baked chicken (courtesy of Clint's amazing roommate), when she gets the call. 

For once, Clint doesn't egg her on. “It's your last chance to get back into singles, you know,” he reminds her. “At least for the next couple of years.” 

Natalia hesitates for a moment. Then she thinks about the coaching, the opportunities, the chance to show Alexei that he may be done but she _isn't_ , and, absurdly, that stupid-hopeful look on James's face when they talk about some sort of future skating together. 

“I'm in,” she says. “When do we start?”

When she hangs up, Clint whoops in joy and tackles her into a hug. 

* 

Their first 'official' meeting is at Tito's Italian Restaurant. The waiter is just walking away from taking their orders when Fury gets down to business. 

“Let's talk about your goals, Barnes, Ms. Romanoff,” Nick Fury says. He's got one arm resting on the table, leaning forward as he uses his one good eye to look between James and Natalia, sitting on the other side of the booth. “What are we thinking about, for this season?”

“Starting slow,” James says at the same time Natalia blurts, “I want to get famous.” She wants to show Alexei that she doesn't need him as much as he said she did, and, since she is getting back into pairs, wants to show that she's just as good, if not better, than she was before. If that means James is the one with whom she returns to the Winter Olympics, so be it.

But as soon as she speaks everyone's attention is on her, and she glances to the side to see James regarding her with a look that's half amused, half, she thinks, tentative. Like he's not sure whether she's joking or not, but hopes that she is. Right. Shoulder injury. “We can get famous slowly,” she allows, and James laughs. 

“I won't say no to that.”

“You're not going to be in any shape for the Olympics by the end of this year, either of you,” Fury says, looking between the two of them, and Natalia shakes her head. That's not what she wants. Not yet, anyway, and maybe not ever. Not ever again, anyway. “And I don't know if you're coupling up early enough to get seeded for the Grand Prix series. Especially since both of you were out of this season. And didn't finish the season before that.”

“But we were thinking, if you two put a lot of effort into getting back into shape, the Challenger Series is doable,” Maria Hill says. She's sitting on Fury's left, sitting straight and looking very professional. “Maybe even winnable.”

Natalia glances over at James, because James is looking at her. It's both amusing and a little sad, how he's constantly waiting to hear her opinion on things before voicing his own thoughts. He's like a very, very hopeful puppy. It's not quite a bad thing. Just… new. Occasionally annoying. 

Since he doesn't have anything to offer, Natalia turns back to his coaches, who are now also _her_ coaches. “Challenger Series sounds good,” she says. She's done it before. 

“Challenger Series sounds _awesome_ ” James confirms. Natalia is obscurely relieved that she apparently gave the response he wanted. “We'll do our homework.”

“You'd better,” Fury says.

“You're going to get a lot,” Hill adds with a wry smile as the waiter comes to serve their food.

They do get a lot of homework. And she and James do it all. 

*

Adjusting to life in the United States isn't as hard as Natalia would have liked it to be. She's got her own one-bedroom apartment in Simsbury, a short drive (and medium-long walk) away from the ISCC, which she (and James) are currently using as their home base. She's taken a year-long membership at a gym that's a short walk in the opposite direction. She gets groceries at eleven a.m. every Sunday; she's found a pizza place and a Chinese place that deliver takeout for when she wants to treat herself, or when Clint comes over to hang out. 

She recognizes her neighbors. She greets some of them by name. She has an American bank account and is sorting out her visa and is contemplating getting a driver's license—an American one. 

She skates four days of the week and goes to the gym, or out running, the other three. It's late March and everything is starting to get green again. The cold, drizzling rains remind her of growing up in Yekaterinburg. Being at the ice rink reminds her of Moscow, and there are a few Russian skaters who occasionally get coffee or work out with her (and a few others who refuse to even acknowledge her). She found a little mom-and-pop Russian restaurant nearby in Avon too, where she goes when she's feeling a particular craving for fresh borscht and black bread or for tula gingerbread. But she misses Russia a lot less than she expected she would.

She misses Alexei a lot less than she expected, too. She's not sure what that means. 

* 

About a month and a half in to their respective training programs, it's time to decide on music and choreography for the competition pieces that they'll be using this year. Fury agreed to keep Clint on as their choreographer, a decision that everyone is fairly happy with (he has the distinction of creating routines for Olympic silver medalist—and his ex-wife—Bobbi Morse, along with others). 

Natalia comes with some suggestions for program music. So does everyone else. The breakfast meeting in Fury's office turns into a breakfast _and_ lunch meeting, but after bagels and fruit salad and the sandwiches Fury has delivered later, they finally settle on three pieces. 

For the short program, it's one of James's and Hill's suggestions, something they were working on as they got James back onto the ice: the instrumental main theme from _[You Only Live Twice](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=40Eflz8ebYE)_. 

James had been the most adamant about that piece, and when they finally agreed on it, he had let out a whoop and punched the air in celebration like some kid on a television show. 

“O _kay_ , double-oh-seven,” Clint had said, which made Natalia laugh. While she's not particularly familiar with (or fond of) James Bond, it's a good song—airy, light, and rhythmic—and a good contrast to their longer program piece. She's already imagining the costumes. James can be done up in some sort of faux-tux, and she'll wear silver or pale blue, something that sparkles when he lifts her up into the air.

Their second song, for the long program, is something that Natalia was adamant about: an [Enrico Morricone medley](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nOr0na6mKJQ) from the classic film _The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly_. Fury, Hill, _and_ Clint had tried to convince her to do some ballet piece, something classical and conservative, because that was her training, and that had been her reputation. But Natalia never picked that for herself. First, she'd chosen on suggestions from Ivan, and after she started pairs, it had been Alexei, Ivan (later Lukin), and their choreographer who had chosen.

Morricone is for her. And James likes it too: “It's dramatic, and it's fast, and it'll give us a chance to show off.” 

Natalia is already dreaming up costumes for that piece too: something red and gold, maybe, or tan and red. Dramatic and warm, like a cowboy film. 

The third song is a compromise song, something extra so that they can have a routine to practice just in case one of their other songs falls through, whether from choreographing issues or from some other conflict, like another person performing a routine to the same song. With what they've picked, Natalia doesn't think that will be a problem, but they have a backup anyway—“[La Cumparsita](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CIu1aGgAOho),” a classic tango that can be cut for a short program or extended for a long one. 

And then it's time to choreograph. Clint takes the music home and works on editing it into the required program length. Natalia tags along, just to hang around his apartment and continue watching _House of Cards_ while he puts his way-too-expensive headphones on to mutter and hum snatches of melodies at his laptop. The finished melodies are excellent, lengthened and shortened seamlessly. 

Fury and Hill approve, and the five of them sit down for another long breakfast-and-lunch meeting to work out the basic choreography. After the lunch salads, it's time for James and Natalia to go out on the ice and start working, skating out the choreography (minus, for now, most of the complex jumps and lifts) that Clint's worked out in his head. They only get a half hour of ice time reserved for just the two of them today, but it's a good start. 

The rest of the week is just as exhausting as the beginning. There's more choreographing, for the short and the long program, more tentative skating, and the beginning of ground practice together, in the mirrored training rooms that allow them to do their lifts and jumps without working on the ice. James's physical therapist often comes to at least the first part of those practices, just to double check that James isn't overusing or re-injuring his left shoulder. Natalia doesn't say anything, but she can tell that James's bad arm sometimes trembles when he lifts her up, and she knows that it's aching. He tapes it, and goes through a lot of Tiger Balm, and she has to trust that it's not going to give out in the middle of a hold. 

But everything is going well. Really well, actually. Natalia enjoys working with James. He's a supportive partner—during holds and in general—and he gives her a lot of creative control over her expressions and her gestures. Maybe that's normal. Natalia never experienced that with Alexei, though. Everything she did during their routines was dictated, or it was an error. Some days she'd felt like a robot. A living mannequin. Now, she feels like a dancer, or maybe an actress. It's great. 

James is also funny. During one floor practice, he makes a zooming airplane noise as he carries her across the floor in a one-handed lift, which nearly ends in disaster when she starts laughing, loses her careful posture, and practically falls on his head. Luckily, he's prepared, and lets her down with a dumb little spin that leaves her breathless. 

Natalia tells Clint about that one, and he gives her a look and rolls his eyes and asks when the wedding is. She throws a piece of popcorn at him. 

It took Natalia three minutes to decide that they could be good partners. After three months, she decides that they could be friends, too. So when James turns to her one evening after a late floor practice and asks if she wants to go get a drink, she's hardly going to refuse him. 

“Sure,” Natalia says and grins, wiping her sweaty face with her already disgusting workout towel. “Just give me some time to shower.”

* 

James knows a nice bar—an Irish pub sort of place—a fifteen minute walk from the ISCC. They head there silently. Natalia, for her part, is tired from practice and saving up stamina for whatever conversations are to come. When they arrive, James wants to buy and so does she, so they compromise: James buys them appetizers (house fries and then kale chips with artichoke dip at Natalia's insistence, so they can at least pretend to be healthy). Natalia gets the first round of drinks.

She gets the second round of appetizers (mozzarella sticks to split because they've given up on pretending to be healthy) and he gets the second round of drinks. The conversation is… good. Better than expected. Probably helped by the alcohol, but who's complaining? Natalia's realizing that she knows basically nothing about James, aside from his professional/competition record, and it's embarrassing. Especially since he—and this comes out after the first drink—has been following her career and watching her perform on video and in person since she was fourteen, and he was sixteen.

“Not in a weird way,” he assures her quickly, so quickly that she thinks there's got to be at least a _little_ weirdness there. She hasn't decided if she minds yet. “It's just, you were this little girl smaller than Becca, out there doing senior level competitions against skaters twice your age. And winning! And then the Olympics!”

Natalia makes a sour face. “And look how well that turned out,” she retorts, bitterness coloring her tone.

“Who cares if you fucked it up?” James asks loudly, brushing away the entire topic of her failure with a wave of his arm. The training, the injuries, the diets, the performance, the expectations… all gone. Who cares? Natalia glares at him. “No offense,” James adds quickly, catching her displeasure. It's not difficult. She's glaring pretty hard. “It's just—you made it to the _Olympics_ , Nat. When you were _fifteen_. Every little kid who picks up a pair of skates, that's their dream. And you made it.”

“And I failed,” Natalia replies coldly, shutting him down before taking a gulp of her screwdriver. They don't make the drinks strong enough here. “In front of the whole world. In front of my country.”

James looks at her with an unreadable expression in his eyes and Natalia realizes what she just said and how much she sounded like a child. She lets out a frustrated breath through her nose and finishes her drink, before putting it down and glaring at James. “Fine. I made it to the Olympics.”

“And I haven't,” James says. “Never have. 2014 was going to be my year, but then...” He reaches up to touch his shoulder again. “And Becca found a guy, decided she wanted an actual life. Couldn't blame her.”

Now that the spotlight has moved away from her Olympic-sized failure, Natalia feels more comfortable in the conversation. “Why didn't you retire too?” After a torn ligament at twenty-four, it seems the logical, safe thing to do.

James makes a wry face. It's his turn to finish his drink. “Skating's the only thing I've ever been good at,” he says. “I've been training to do it my whole life. I don't really have a fallback plan.” He runs a hand through his hair which is still slightly wet from showering at the rink, making a complete mess of it. “What about you?”

Natalia moves her eyes from his hair to his face, then looks down at her empty glass. She could have ended her career after the Olympic disaster instead of trying to run from her humiliation by moving to pairs. She could have retired when she split up with Alexei. She could have moved to a big city in the U.S., not a small town with an internationally renowned skating center. She sighs. “I guess I don't have a backup plan either.”

James gives her a crooked grin. “Another drink?”

Their conversation turns to lighter things after that, like how James got into skating: “Becca was five and begging for figure skating lessons or horseback riding. Ironically, mom thought skating was cheaper, and the rink was doing a sibling special for lessons, so she signed me up too.”

They talk about competitions they both attended: “Remember the U.S. Classic in 2012?” Natalia asks, resting her elbow on the table. The bar has gotten more and more crowded and she's become a little tipsy, so it seems logical to lean closer to James while she talks. His nose is a little crooked. She's noticed before, and wonders how he broke it. It's kind of cute.

“Yeah. Colorado Springs. Nice place. That was the year with the Maximoff twins?”

“Yes!” Natalia says. That was exactly what she meant. “When Pietro fell, and then slid!” It had been both hilarious and horrifying to watch, and became legendary afterward, when everyone found out that that slip had made it necessary for the twins to essentially re-choreograph their short program on the fly. And they still won bronze.

“And when like, three people used [something from _Carmen_](https://youtu.be/8cUet2MG-JU?t=23s),” James adds, his grin getting wider. “Two in the ladies long program, one in pairs...”

“And a man, too, in singles,” Natalia added. “Four _Carmen_ s. And they all had those black and red costumes, with the lace.”

“Like bullfighters,” James agrees. “I've never done anything from _Carmen_. But we did do _[Don Giovanni](https://youtu.be/jyjVCbTo5F0?t=3m24s)_ , once. The overture, you know,” and he hums a bar and waves his hand to illustrate.

Natalia hums along with him, because she knows exactly which part he's talking about. “Ivan—my old coach, I mean—told me I wasn't allowed to do anything from _Carmen_ , ever. I'd be competing against every woman who ever skated to it.”

“But you did the Nutcracker,” James points out.

“Different coach.” Ivan had died not long after she'd started skating with Alexei. Natalia often wonders where she'd be now if he was still around. “And it's Russian.” Natalia raises her eyebrows and gives James a significant look, which makes him laugh. “Speaking of music, how'd you pick that James Bond song? I mean, I like it, but…” She shrugs. She wouldn't have known where to look.

“I _love_ James Bond,” James says immediately, a wide, stupid grin on his face. “He's my idol.”

Natalia is immediately skeptical. “Uh-huh,” she says and takes another sip of her vodka martini. It was James's turn to pick the drinks. Now she knows why he ordered this for both of them. She's just glad she wasn't at the bar to hear him request them 'shaken, not stirred.' “Are you drunk?”

“Tipsy,” James admits. Apparently she has a higher tolerance than him. Maybe it's a Russian thing. “But come on. Classic Bond is great.” Natalia doesn't know. She's only seen _Casino Royale_ , which is a new one, and snippets of the old films on television once in a while. “And my dream is—get this.” He leans forward too, so that their noses are nearly touching. Natalia mentally measures the distance between their faces and is intrigued in spite of herself. Her eyes drift down to his lips as he talks:

“My dream is for them to announce my name as 'Barnes, James Barnes' when I win gold in the Grand Prix.”

It's so unexpected, and so absolutely foolish, that Natalia's eyes go back up to James's for a second as she gapes, probably looking like a fish out of water. A Russian and maybe slightly tipsy fish out of water who expected something very different to come out of James's mouth. It's _so_ absurd that after a few seconds of stunned _that-was_ _-the-stupidest-thing-I've-ever-heard_ , she has to retreat to her own side of the table and lean back in her chair as she laughs. She tries to cover her mouth but that doesn't hide the fact that she's laughing more than she has in, well, ages. Ever, maybe.

“I'm _serious_ ,” James insists.

“You're drunk,” Natalia gasps. “You're an idiot.”

“A _serious_ idiot,” James retorts, which gives Natalia another burst of laughter. He manages a hurt look for all of two seconds before he joins Natalia in laughing. They're both being silly and awful and Natalia has a feeling the people at neighboring tables are giving them weird looks, but she can't bring herself to care. When James pulls himself back together, he says, “And then they'll announce you: _Natalya Romanova, from Russia with love_.” He puts on his thickest Russian accent. It's… infuriatingly accurate.

She nearly upsets his martini glass when she reaches across the table to hit his shoulder. “We don't talk like that!”

James raises his eyebrows.

Natalia opens her mouth, shuts it, and then glares at him. “'Bucky' means idiot in Russian. I'm not kidding. Google Translate it.”

“Ouch,” James says, pressing a hand to his chest and then laughing out loud. “All the more reason to be Barnes, James Barnes.”

His affronted, self-righteous tone makes Natalia burst into foolish laughter again. “Or all the more reason to keep going by 'Bucky',” she points out. She still doesn't understand that nickname. Maybe it's the American version of a patronym or something.

James snorts. “Thanks, Nat. Do you want another drink?”

Natalia thinks about what they've already had: a whiskey sour, a screwdriver, a vodka martini. “Probably not.” She used to be able to drink like a fish at parties with Alexei, but that was a while ago and they have practice tomorrow again. On-ice practice. “It's getting kind of late.”

On one hand, it's hardly past ten p.m. On the other hand, that means they've been in this bar for about three hours. Wow.

“Okay,” James says, and Natalia thinks he might look a little disappointed but doesn't want to interrogate that too deeply. “You live near here, right? Let me walk you home.”

Natalia was just going to call a cab or an Uber or something. But the walk should be only about twenty minutes, if she's right about where they are, and if she's honest with herself, she's enjoying James's company. A lot. She acquiesces. “Alright. Let's go.”

*

It turns out James lives basically the opposite direction from Natalia, meaning that walking her home is taking him way out of his way, so they spend the first few minutes of the walk figuring out how to get the Uber app on his phone and looking for codes to get him a free ride. They have to walk closely together so that they can both look at his iPhone, and once he puts it away, they remain close enough that their shoulders are brushing.

It's alright. Natalia's only wearing a light sweater and the May night is surprisingly brisk. And James is like a big, solid, portable heater. At some point, she ends up with a hand on his arm. That's alright, too.

The conversation moves along slowly, as does their walk. It seems like James isn't in any hurry to get to their destination, and neither is she. They talk a bit more about skating, and then about movies, and it turns out they're both Mission Impossible fans to varying degrees and Natalia has an encyclopedic knowledge of old spaghetti Westerns.

“That explains your long program pick,” James says. “Which—I meant to tell you earlier, it's awesome. I love it.”

Natalia glances up to find him smiling down at her, and her stomach does a stupid little flip that she remembers from—oh, fuck. It takes her a second to smile back. “Thank you.” Why does she always have these realizations so late? Has she been crushing on James this entire time?

(Yes, she realizes. She has.)

At least her apartment building is in sight, so she can go in and shut the door and try to sort out all of these tangled up feelings before she can make an idiot of herself in front of James. Apparently he realizes the same thing. “Highgate Apartments. You live there, right?”

“Yes,” Natalia says. They turn so they're walking across the parking lot, arms still linked together. She's quietly horrified at how much she's enjoying the physical contact, and hates her subconscious for being so weak. She told herself she'd never fall for another skating partner, not after everything went absolutely off the rails with Alexei.

The conversation has sort of died, but as Natalia steers them towards her usual entrance, James says, “Hey, I… just want to tell you that I'm… Like, thanks.”

Natalia frowns, shaken out of agonizing about her newfound feelings by the sheer absurdity of that statement. “For what?” she asks, daring to glance up at him again. This time, it's okay. He's staring straight ahead and frowning.

“Thanks for picking me as a partner,” James clarifies. He still doesn't look at her. “You're one of the best skaters I've ever met. And I'm not saying that just to flatter you. I'm serious. And kind of terrified. You know you can do better than me, right?”

“Oh,” Natalia says out loud, steering him towards an outdoor stairway, and then, “Everyone better than you already has a partner, though.”

It's not meant to be funny, but James laughs anyway. “Right. Forgot about that. I just mean… I really like you.”

“Oh,” Natalia says again. Her heart is beating absurdly fast and she's gone into fight-or-flight mode, except in this case, it's a choice between curling up in a ball right here on the stairs and refusing to listen to him, or shoving him away and then running up the rest of the flight to her apartment, then locking the door behind her. She can't deal with this right now. Not after Alexei and moving and starting over and everything. She _hates_ feelings.

Apparently James doesn't quite get all that from ' _oh_ '. “I mean it,” he says as Natalia, on autopilot, brings them to the top of the stairs and towards her apartment, which is two doors down. “I like you a lot, as a partner and as a… friend. More than a friend. I...”

They're finally at her door so Natalia can break way from him and turn to face him. “So, this is me,” she says, cutting off whatever he's going to say.

“Nat,” James begins, looking down at her.

“James,” Natalia says. Her fingers are cold. And she knows James is warm. She's going to regret this but right now, after three drinks and a fun date that might have really _been_ a date, it seems like a good idea. She reaches up to cup his face in her hands, brushing her thumbs along his cheekbones. “I get it, already. I just can't deal with this right now. Okay? I'm tired.”

“Not even a kiss?” James asks, leaning into her touch and giving her that same tentative, hopeful look that he had on his face when he was waiting for her to decide whether they could try being partners or not.

Natalia's stomach does a slow, lazy flip. This is stupid. She hates, _hates_ feelings. And she kind of, almost, just a little bit, hates James for making her have these feelings. She licks her lips. “Maybe a kiss.”

He kisses her.

That's not right. _They_ kiss, because this is just as much Natalia's decision and she's leaning into him just as much as he's leaning into her, and it's funny because she's so used to touching him and being touched by him in practice but this is totally different, and when she presses her hands to his face and slides them to his shoulders it's like she's discovering his actual body for the first time.

And he's good at kissing. And she wants him.

That realization makes her pull back and push James away as she fumbles in her bag for her keys. “I have to go,” she says, avoiding his eyes. He probably looks hurt, confused. She doesn't want to see it. She has enough trouble focusing on the lock and getting it open with shaking hands.

“Natalia?” James asks.

She's going to break the key in her lock if she keeps fumbling this much. Somehow, miraculously, she gets the door open. “Good night,” she says as she practically hurls herself inside, then slams the door and locks it.

There's a moment of silence, and then James knocks hesitantly on the door. “Natalia? Nat? Are you okay?”

She holds her breath until she hears him sigh, then turn, then walk back down the stairs. And then she lets herself start crying.

*

She falls several times during practice the next day, compounding old bruises with new ones, and flubs a lift with James so badly that they both end up on the ground, the blade of Natalia's skate missing his cheek by a few centimeters. Hill cuts the practice short and tells them to get a good rest tomorrow, so they can meet for groundwork the day after, since they clearly need it. She also reminds them that Eastern Sectionals is in a week, and if they want to even make it to the Challenger Series, they had better shape up. Natalia goes to the locker room upset and frustrated, with the telltale prickle of tears in the corners of her eyes.

She tries to get out of the building quickly, but James finds her in a mostly deserted hallway, still wearing his training leggings and jacket even though he's changed his shoes. “Natalia. Wait up.”

Natalia thinks about running. It's too childish, though, so she just sighs and turns around. “ _What_ , James?”

During practice, she'd thought that James was fine, but now she can see that he looks as stressed as she feels. And as tired. “Is it something I said?” he demands. “Did I upset you? What _happened_ last night?”

She looks around. Gossip spreads like wildfire in the skating world, and she doesn't need this to be the ISCC's scandal of the month. There's no one within earshot, though, and so she has no choice but to turn back to James, shifting nervously from foot to foot. “I'm tired. I was tired. I… got nervous.”

“Okay,” James says. He's clearly relieved that she's actually having this conversation, not running away and locking herself in her apartment like she did last night. “Was it me? Was it something I did?”

Natalia shakes her head, but that's only sort of true. If he hadn't asked to kiss her in the first place, or started talking about how much he liked her, then they wouldn't be having this problem. …It's petty to think that way, though. “It's me, probably. Do we have to talk about this now?”

James doesn't insist, but he does give her a _look_ , and Natalia sighs again. Yes, they have to talk about it now. Because with Alexei, she never talked, and look where that got them. Look where it's gotten her now, with someone who's never even met Alexei and who could care less about her past relationship failures.

“Fine,” Natalia says and drops her bag gracelessly. It's too heavy if they're going to actually have a talk, right here in the cold hallway. “We can talk about this now.”

“Okay,” James says. He puts his bag down too, with much more care than Natalia used, then straightens. Natalia hates that he's tall. “You said that it's 'you'. What's that mean?”

Natalia opens her mouth, shuts it, then lets out a frustrated breath through her nose. It's one thing to say they can talk about this and another thing to do it. “I just…” She crosses her arms over her chest. “I've tried this before. Dating a partner. It… didn't end well.”

“Alexei,” James says. “You're talking about Alexei.”

Natalia can't meet his eyes. “Yes. But it happens all the time! You're supposed to be close to your partner, and you're supposed to trust them, and I guess you're supposed to _like_ them, but not like this!” She's gotten herself worked up now, and she's angry enough to glare at James. “Because if you like them like _this_ , then you're going to let them walk all over you and control your career and you won't even care until it's too late and everything is ruined and you're too old to be good at skating and not _good_ enough to be a wife and—”

“Nat,” James says.

Natalia doesn't listen. “—So you leave the country and try to start over new and _that's_ why I wanted to try singles and _that's_ why I didn't want to fall for you, but here I am.” She kicks her duffel bag. It's not satisfying. “And _that's_ what happened last night.” Her arms are crossed so tightly over her chest that it's making her shoulders sore, and her vision is blurry with a thin film of tears.

This is what she didn't want. This is _exactly_ what she never wanted again.

“Nat,” James repeats. “Natalia.” His voice is deliberately calm and it actually works to soothe her… which makes Natalia kind of want to hit him. “Take a breath.” She does. “Are you listening?” She nods.

“I'm not Alexei Shostakovich.” His voice is calm and quiet, but Natalia can feel the intensity in it and it makes her shiver and pay attention. “I know his reputation. He's an ass. But he's not here. And you guys are finished. And I just want…” He sighs, and rubs a hand over his face. “I'm not gonna tell you I want a chance, though I do, because I know you had a rough time. I get it. It was a shitty relationship and a shitty breakup and you have a lot of things to work through. And I _respect_ that. I just want you to tell me if I've got a chance. Maybe not now. But eventually. Or if I should stop now, and keep this at, keep this as just a professional thing. Because I will. If you tell me to. I just need to _know_. Before I make a bigger idiot out of myself than—than I did last night.”

It's the most Natalia's ever heard James say at once, and it makes her feel simultaneously guilty and… and what? He's really reassuring. Really convincing. Her heartbeat's speeding up stupidly again. She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, forcing her arms to relax. Then she reaches up and presses the heels of her palms to her eyes. It's going to wreak havoc on her makeup, but that's beside the point right now. “I'm sorry,” she says when she can.

James says nothing.

“I'm…” Natalia puts her hands down and looks up at him. He's watching her, and his expression is carefully neutral, but his neck and the muscles of his jaw are tense. She thinks about putting her hands on his face again, like last night. Her fingers even twitch, but she doesn't move. Not now. Not here. “I like you. I realized that last night.” Admitting it makes her face hot with a blush. “But you're also my last shot at internationals. Maybe the Olympics.” It isn't quite true, but she is getting older. And the more time that passes, the more chance there is that she'll be injured or just age out before she has a real chance to compete. “And I don't want to mess that up.”

She thinks (hopes) that she sees James relax. He straightens up a little, anyway, and runs a hand over his hair to rest it at the back of his neck. “Okay,” he says. “That makes sense.”

“Thanks,” Natalia says and gives a twisted little smile.

“So what's it mean for us? I'll go at your pace. I mean, you can take the lead. I think I made that clear.” He did. From the moment they met, more or less, and that's another thing Natalia really likes about him.

Natalia finally gives into the temptation to reach up and touch the little bend in his nose, then his cheekbone, and then squeezes his shoulder—the good one—before letting her arm drop. “I… want to see if we can try something. But let's wait until we're done competing. At least after the first big competition, just to make sure… Just to make sure we can work well together.”

James nods. “After the U.S. Classic,” he says. “Okay.” He reaches out and squeezes Natalia's shoulder, returning her gesture, and even gives her his crooked grin. It's smaller than usual, but still familiar, and Natalia can't help but smiling back just a little. “Thanks.”

“Thank you. For being patient.” She touches the back of his hand briefly, then steps away to pick up her bag. “I'll see you the day after tomorrow, I guess.”

“Yeah,” James says, his smile getting a little wider. “See you. Have a nice night, Natalia.”

Natalia's turning to go down the hall but at that, she stops to look back at him, her stomach doing another little flip. This better be something she can turn off when they're training, otherwise she might as well retire now. “You too, James.”

He waves, and heads out the other way.

*

Natalia remembers when she was eleven, practicing a double axel, and took a bad (stupid) fall. She ended up landing poorly on her side, and felt her shoulder joint pop out of place. She'd thought it was broken. It felt like it was broken—her entire shoulder was this throbbing, grating mess of red hot pain. She'd never hurt that badly before, and rarely since.

But when Ivan ran out onto the ice, he took her arm in one hand and her shoulder in the other, did some twist with his hand, and popped it back into place. And she could move again. And things were right again.

She still had to go to the doctor and get X-rays, still had to keep her arm in a sling for a couple of weeks, still had to do physical therapy and stay off the ice for about two months. But it was that one jolt of the bone going back into its socket, as painful as it was, that made her able to recover.

That's what this feels like. Sort of.

*

It's not easy, after that. But it's not difficult, either. She and James continue to work well together, and occasionally go out and have the odd drink together. But James is careful never to make a move on her and Natalia appreciates that.

Sometimes, though, she has dreams where she's kissing him, or he's kissing her, and she… appreciates those too.

They get better together. Closer. Natalia starts thinking about James as a friend _and_ as someone she could have a potential relationship with, which is new. Alexei went from partner to lover and there was nothing, Natalia is realizing now, that they have in common. On the other hand, Natalia and James have started watching movies together on bus rides, or plane flights, or while waiting for their turn in the rink. Occasionally they work out together, because it turns out James has a membership at the same gym she does. She cooks him dinner one night and he returns the favor the week after that.

Natalia really, _really_ likes him, she's realizing. And she's also realizing, as their performances get better and better and they start getting more comfortable working with each other, her feelings for him don't necessarily have to get in the way of her performance, just like James's feelings for her don't get in the way of how he works.

Sectionals pass in a blur of gold and silver and bronze and enough points to get them selected for international competitions this season, not that there was any doubt. And then they're on the plane for Salt Lake City.

Natalia ends up in the seat next to James. Hill is a few rows in front of them. Fury, who's traveling on his own money just like the rest of them, has opted for first class. Clint is busy in Simsbury, but he sent his love and a box of chocolates with Natalia. “They're congratulations chocolates if you win. But if you lose, it's comfort food,” he'd told her with a grin, pressing the box into her hands. Natalia's already planning to break them out as soon as she gets to the hotel room.

James gives her the window seat, and it's only belatedly that Natalia realizes he's in the middle and has neither leg nor elbow room. “Are you sure?” she asks, frowning at him.

“Eh, it's fine,” James says, rolling his shoulders in a gesture halfway between a stretch and a shrug, then pulling his phone out of his pocket. “I'll live. I mean, this was my usual arrangement with Rebecca.”

Natalia gives him a skeptical look but she likes the window seat, so she doesn't press.

“Have you seen the _Fast and Furious_ movies?” James asks after a moment. He's pulled up some sort of movie player on his phone. “I'm watching the second one, if you want.” He offers her one of his earbuds.

Natalia looks up at him, and then back at the small screen. Anything to make the flight go faster, she supposes, though she's never seen any _Fast and Furious_. “Alright.” She puts the earbud in.

James gives her his crooked grin. “Beats being anxious about the competition, trust me.” Natalia wants to bristle and say that she doesn't get anxious, thank you very much, but that was only with Alexei, and probably just because she knew she didn't have control over much that was going to happen. She's been nervous about the U.S. International Classic since they got the confirmation they were going.

So instead, she just says, “Thanks,” and offers him a matching smile before settling down with her shoulder against his to watch the movie. It's… not great, and one day she'll need to pick the movie herself and expose James to something that isn't an overdone action movie from the nineties. But it's distracting enough to take her mind off the upcoming competition, and boring enough that—she knows James is going to tease her for this later—Natalia falls asleep, her head coming to rest on James's shoulder.

The next thing she remembers, she's being shaken awake by James, who's looking down at her. His face looks sweet and tired and the first thing that comes to Natalia's half-sleeping mind is how nice it would be to kiss him right now.

Then she straightens, and yawns, and shoves that out of her head. Later. “What's up?”

“We're landing. Gotta put your seat back up.”

“Mm?” They'd started watching the film when the plane had only just taken off, so that means it must have ended and then some. And James had let her sleep on his shoulder the entire time. Natalia smoothes her hair back, puts her seat back in the upright position, and gives him a sleepy smile. “Thanks,” she says. “How was the movie?”

James lets out a snort of laughter. “It was good. Not that you'd know. You're all red.” He pokes her cheek, where it had been resting against his shirt.

Natalia rolls her eyes at him. “Your fault,” she says, then reaches up to ruffle his hair out of its nicely gelled hold. She knows he hates that. “Thanks.” She means for more than the teasing, and more than waking her up.

James only makes a weak effort to fight her off. “Yeah,” he says. “Anytime.”

*

Short programs come first, and they draw one of the last slots. Even before they get out on the ice Natalia feels sick to the stomach with nerves. She tries to focus on anything else—other skaters, James's warmth next to her, the shimmers that come off her pale blue leotard, the buzz of speech and bursts of applause from the stands, but nothing works. This is the competition that could make or break the whole season, and, in doing so, make or break her entire career. Maybe James feels the same way, because halfway through the Korean team's performance he starts fidgeting next to her.

When their names are called and they step out on the ice to the crowd's applause, it doesn't get better. Natalia squeezes James's hand hard as they skate out to their starting positions, then takes a deep breath… and feel her stomach clench tightly with nerves again as [the singing trill of violins](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=40Eflz8ebYE) opens up their short program.

The routine goes immediately into a spin and a graceful two-handed lift, one that puts most of its weight on James's bad shoulder. Clint knew this, but being able to lift from either side is an important skill, so he put the left-handed lift at the beginning of the program, knowing it would be when James was at his full strength. And they've _practiced_ it. They've done this lift hundreds of times, on the floor, in the airport (okay, that was once), on the ice. They've managed it without any problem for the past three months.

Today, though…

Natalia doesn't know whether it's nerves or altitude or some combination of both, but as soon as she's up in the air, James's arm buckles, and she's falling.

Distantly, about the same time as she hits the ground with an impact hard enough to send little pins and needles through her hip and bring tears to her eyes, she hears the crowd gasp in shock. And then there's James, bending down to her. “Nat?” he whispers.

She shakes her head and forces herself back to her feet. He looks just about as pale as she is, probably, and his left arm is hanging uselessly at his side. “Keep going,” she hisses at him. They're going to end this. They won't quit now. They'll at least finish the goddamn routine.

James straightens just a little bit, the grim determination in her eyes mirroring hers, and nods. And they start again.

The rest of the routine is shoddy, though, because Natalia's hip is hurting enough that it's hard for her to get a perfect landing on most of her jumps, and James's arms shake horribly every time he's lifting her up. The applause they receive at the end is probably more pity than anything, and there's no celebration when they come out of their finishing poses. James just turns to Natalia, his face stricken. “I'm so _sorry_ , Nat, my arm. Are you—”

She shakes her head. They don't need to talk about her right now. And there's no point in apologizing. “I'm fine. Your shoulder…” She reaches out to touch it, and James shakes his head in turn.

“I don't know,” he says honestly. “I just… I don't…”

Natalia bites the inside of her cheek hard and takes him by the other arm, leading him over to the side of the rink and then out. As soon as they get off the ice, there's a team of doctors and James's physical therapist ready to take him for an exam. Natalia feels a lump of unshed tears already forming in her throat and goes to their coaches.

To their credit, Hill and Fury don't have much to say. She probably looks awful enough that they know better. The three of them head over to the kiss and cry bench in silence, and Natalia remains silent, her hip throbbing in a mute reproach, until they get their score: _34.04_.

It's not… bad. They probably got points for the costumes, the music, maybe some pity points from a couple of judges who were familiar with both of them from their glory days. And that's what the announcers are probably saying right now—how it's a shame that Natalia Romanova will never be as good as she used to be, how it looks like that injury has put James Barnes out of the rink for good, whether he likes it or not…

She declines two interviews, nods curtly to a few well-wishers, and goes to find James. He's in the small, cinder-block room that's being used as the first aid center, with two instant ice packs taped to either side of his shoulder. When Natalia comes in, flanked by Fury and Hill, he looks up, then shakes his head. “I heard the score. Sorry again, Natalia.”

She really, _really_ doesn't want to talk about it. “How's your shoulder?” she asks and limps over to him, which of course gets the attention of one of the medics, and then there's a ten minute interlude where they take off her skates and check out the glorious bruise that's already forming and sit her down with an ice pack of her own.

“The shoulder's…” James begins and then winces a little once they finally have a second to talk. “It hurts. But if I take care of it—if I take a lot of painkillers, they mean—I should be good for tomorrow.”

Natalia glances over at Fury and Hill, who spent the past ten minutes conversing quietly with each other. Hill looks grim. Fury, grimmer, but he says, “We're not pulling out yet. Take whatever they give you, Barnes, and we'll see how you feel in the morning.”

The thing is, they're not at the bottom of the rankings, once all the numbers get compiled. Not at the top, either, obviously, but they've got a shot.

“A long shot,” James says, his tone bitter, when they're sitting together in his hotel room that night. He's run a hot bath for himself and he's soaking in it, and Natalia's perched on the toilet seat with Clint's box of chocolates on her lap. They've gotten a bottle of wine from room service, too, but it's the opposite of romantic. James even put bubbles in the bath to preserve his modesty.

“But it's still,” Natalia begins and then glances down at James's shoulder. It's not bruised, anyway, unlike her hip, but she knows that the worst injuries are often invisible. She lets out a breath through her nose, takes an inelegant gulp of wine, and says, “If we get out on the ice tomorrow, it's still a chance. We're not done yet, James.”

James meets her eyes wearily, then takes a drink from his own glass. “We'll see how things are tomorrow,” he says.

It's not a promise, but at least he doesn't make promises that he can't keep. Natalia sighs, then reaches out for his hand. James takes it wordlessly. “We're not done yet,” she repeats, and it's to convince herself as much as it is to convince him.

*

The next morning, Natalia wakes feeling a bright, clear determination that's only augmented when she sees James at breakfast and he tells her that his arm is feeling much better than the night before. She goes to watch the ladies' singles division while James is having another meeting with a doctor and his physical therapist, and tries not to be nervous. She also declines another interview.

James is still looking hopeful when they meet back up for lunch, even though his jacket is bulky around his shoulder probably because of another ice pack. “Doctors say it looks okay,” he tells her and the coaches as they sit around a table with their Subway sandwiches. “I just gotta go easy on it until we get into the rink.”

“That means no practice session,” Hill reminds both of them, but that's alright. Natalia's wondering if it isn't their practice earlier that started to make his arm go funny. He'd tossed her up a little harder than normal, that time. They'd both been excited.

“I think we can manage,” she says. That means that at seven p.m., while other teams are practicing on the ice, she's finishing up getting her costume on and pinning up the last of her hair. They've gone with a cowboy look for this set. Lots of tan and red and white, and her leotard and James's open shirt both have gold sequins sewn along the edges. It's ostentatious but fun—nothing she would have ever worn while skating with Alexei. Naturally, she loves it.

She doesn't see James until after that, when they draw for their place in the lineup. This time, they'll be going third. Normally, skaters prefer to be later in the lineup, but this time, Natalia's glad. She doesn't know if she could stand waiting through everyone else's routines.

And, soon enough, it's show time.

When Natalia moves out onto the ice, she takes a deep breath and lets the cool air of the rink settle her nerves. She's been here before. She's done this before. And she can do it again. This is not going to end up like the short program, and it is not going to be the end of her. She and James get into position, backs to each other, almost-but-not-quite touching. [And the music starts](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nOr0na6mKJQ), and she's not worried anymore.

Natalia skates like she's never skated before. Maybe it's the music that she chose for herself, maybe it's her connection to James, maybe it's the knowledge that they need the highest possible score in this program to even end up on the winner's podium. Whatever it is—it works. She's completely focused on the ice and on her partner, and the complex choreography of their free program routine unrolls in her head as easily as if she were reading it from a page.

Spin out. Step sequence. Synchronized double salchow. Arabesque. Throw double lutz jump. They've trained hard for this, and now it's like clockwork.

There's just one moment that scares her. James has her raised up in a hand-to-hand press lift, and she's extending her free arm and her legs in a graceful pose, when she feels him falter. But it's his good arm, she thinks, even as he sets her down much sooner than they've practiced.

It's his good arm, _it's his good arm_ , she tells herself as she turns the hard landing into a spin and _doesn't_ fall.

And somehow that spin gets them back into the right rhythm for the choreography, and they keep going, because they have to. Natalia refuses to lose her focus until she takes her final pose, at the end of the routine, and the world snaps back into place around her with disorienting speed.

And it's done.

As the music stops and the round of applause begins, James and Natalia break their finishing pose to turn towards each other, and Natalia can see her elation mirrored in her eyes. He reaches out to cup her cheeks and for a single, brief, breathless second, Natalia thinks that he's going to kiss her, until he leans in to press their foreheads hard together (if her eyes weren't already watering, they would be now) and then sweep her up into a breathtaking, bone-crushing hug. “We did it, we did it!” he crows and Natalia clings to him as he sweeps her around in a dizzying circle.

Someone throws a miniature Russian flag down onto the ice. It probably has some nasty message on it about how she's betraying her former team and her country. Natalia doesn't care. She presses a kiss to James's cheek. It leaves a dark red lipstick stain. She doesn't care, and she kisses his cheek again. She never wants to let go of him.

But they can't stay out celebrating forever, and soon James's grip loosens and he puts her down. She's a bit wobbly and James has lipstick on his cheek and both of them look teary and dazed, and Natalia hopes someone is filming this because she wants to see it up on YouTube later, just to relive this moment.

Finally, James leads them off the ice and Natalia follows, still in too much of a daze to do anything but smile. She's not even taken aback when Hill pulls her into a hug, or when Fury pats her so hard on the back that she almost stumbles. They make it to the kiss and cry area to wait for their scores, and Natalia sits down on the bench close to James, holding his hand so tightly that her knuckles are white as she catches her breath.

“That was good,” she says when she can finally talk again, and James's full attention is immediately on her. He looks just as delirious as she feels, she thinks. “That was really good.”

“Yeah,” he says. “You were amazing. That landing…”

“I've got an amazing partner,” Natalia says. It's the kind of thing you'd say as a joke, or in a corny movie (James Bond?), but she means it. James is the best partner she could have asked for, and she's not just thinking that because she's coming down from one of the happiest adrenaline highs of her life.

Well. Maybe a little.

There are cameras here and Natalia remembers to wave for the fans, but she doesn't let go of James's hand at all, not even when their score is announced: _1_ _2_ _8.92_.

“ _No_ ,” Natalia gasps, her free hand flying to her mouth. Next to her on the bench, Hill stiffens, and Fury lets out a grunt of surprise on James's other side.

James, directly to her left, is looking up at the judges with wide eyes, like he can hardly believe what he heard. And then all of a sudden the stunned silence in the auditorium is broken by a roar of applause, and Natalia feels like a marionette with its strings cut and all she can do is fall forward against James, who's reaching for her.

“Nat,” James says, a wide, disbelieving smile on his face.

“James,” she replies, reaching up to touch his face again. She's probably mirroring his smile. Her face hurts from smiling so much. “We _did_ it.”

They almost kiss, but not quite. It doesn't matter. They'll have time. They were going to wait until the U.S. Classic to try and start something between them, and now they're here, they're back, both of them, from their own separate uphill battles.

And for the first time in a long time, she feels completely ready for whatever the future's going to throw at her.

*

They get bronze. The free program score combined with their short program, in the end, gives them a total of 165.40, which isn't enough to beat the top two contenders—Scott Summers and Jean Gray, skating for the U.S., get gold, and the Maximoff twins, skating for Sokovia, get silver. But that doesn't really matter.

What really matters is the celebratory dinner that Fury treats them to that night at a steakhouse he chose and Hill loves. Natalia has never been one for steak but they've got lobster too, and after the third toast to their team, it really doesn't matter that this is never a restaurant she would have picked for herself. Hill loosens up and lets herself get tipsy, and even Fury loses his frown. She and James, already drunk with euphoria, get actually drunk enough to be giggly and ridiculous, and when they get back to the hotel room Natalia feels like they're two kids being escorted by overly indulgent parents.

What really matters, too, is after that, when she and James go up to their rooms, but actually only go into his room, and end up falling into bed together fully clothed like they're children. She's tipsy still, but no longer _drunk_ , and she's content to put her head on James's pillow and her hand on James's chest, over his shirt, until he gives up his close examination of the ceiling and looks over at her. “We did good today, didn't we?

“We did excellently,” Natalia says. “U.S. Classic, in the bag.”

James gives her a considering look, his eyes wandering over his face. He's not that drunk either, she realizes. Just tired. They're both exhausted. “Yeah, just like you said. Next stop, what? Germany? Slovakia? I'm almost thinking we should extend our trial period—you know how you said you didn't want to try to work things out with me until after this competition? It's done wonders to my work ethic.” He meets her eyes again and gives a slow, crooked smile, one that lights up his gorgeous dark blue eyes.

“Shut up,” Natalia says, and kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the “[kiss and cry area](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kiss_and_cry)” is a real, official thing. Natalia's ladies' singles career (childhood prodigy from Yekaterinburg; disappointment at the Olympics) is loosely based on Yulia Lipnitskaya's early skating career and performance at Sochi, as portrayed in this [short documentary](https://youtu.be/K_YAwkcrMRA).
> 
> Thanks again [Kristen](http://skylo-ben.tumblr.com) for reading over the beginning & for the encouragement that I needed to get started!
> 
> Finally, if you got this far, thanks for reading! Feel free to hit me up on [tumblr](http://serazienne.tumblr.com) anytime.


End file.
